With a Warrior's Heart
by Jocelyn Ralph
Summary: The Hero of Kvatch struggles to find purpose after the defeat of Mehrunes Dagon and the death of Martin Septim. Rated M for future chapters.


The lake breeze swept over the Imperial City, chasing the lingering smoke that was all that remained of the Daedric attack from the broken walls. The Hero of Kvatch wiped the wetness from her cheeks, tears she couldn't stop from falling. The battle was long over, and she had received her reward from the Elder Council; and now that she was finally alone, all the sorrow and feelings of loss broke the dam in her exhausted mind and came tumbling out in a torrent as she left the triumphant city.

She pulled her hair out of its customary ponytail and ran her fingers through it. The day was growing old; she should have stayed the night in the city, but she couldn't stay. Noting the setting sun, she began the monotonous task of setting up camp; a routine she had performed so many times in her quests that it had become mindless.

In no time at all, she sat before a small campfire, watching the flames, the flow of tears never abating. In the dancing firelight, she became lost of the flashbacks from that horrifying, harrowing day two weeks prior.

_The sounds of battle were interrupted by a tremor in the earth, followed by a low rumbling in the air. She hissed and looked up, the battle-grimace on her face quickly replaced by a look of abject horror. She turned her head and caught Martin's eye and saw the same look on his face. She made her way over to him._

"_We're too late!" he panted, bending over to catch his breath. "Mehrunes Dagon is here."_

_She nodded grimly. "I know, I saw. The air is practically crackling with his power." She shivered. "What are we going to do?"_

_Martin looked away from her, up toward where Mehrunes' head was beginning to peak over the buildings. When he looked back at her, his gaze was just as lost as she was beginning to feel. "Lighting the Dragonfires will no longer save us. . ." he bleakly stated, "the barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone. . ."_

_She made a slash at a dremora that came running toward her and Martin. "What does that mean? Can we cast him back into Oblivion?"_

_Martin sent a blast of fire behind her. She turned to see one of the spider daedra crumpling to ash. She nodded her thanks to Martin in relief. "I don't see how," he replied to her question, rubbing a hand over his face in stress. "Mortal weapons may hurt him, but now that he is physically here in Tamriel, they have no power to actually destroy him."_

_She bit her lip, fighting the overwhelming grip of despair that was slowly taking hold in her chest. "Is there nothing we can do, then?" her voice broke. "What about the Amulet of Kings?" She reached out to the chain about his neck and lightly brushed her fingers over it. It, too, radiated an incredible power._

_Martin began to shake his head again despondently, but inspiration suddenly lit his eyes and he grew excited. "Wait, yes. The Amulet was given to mortals by Akatosh. . ."_

_She nodded, remembering the story he had told her once._

"_It contains his divine power. . ." He began to pace in the midst of the battle, his mind working out their dilemma, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the Amulet. She kept an eye out, making sure nothing approached him. "But how to use that power against Dagon?" he muttered to himself, rubbing his chin absently. "The Amulet was not intended as a weapon. . ." As Martin worked out the dilemma in his head, his face grew grim. When he finally met her gaze, her heart nearly stopped; she knew she wasn't going to like what was coming. "I have an idea. One last hope."_

"_What is it?" she asked, gently laying her hand on his arm._

_Martin pressed his lips together before he answered, and she knew he was considering how much to tell her now, and how much later. "I must reach the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One."_

"_But you said it was useless. . ." she said, unsure._

_Martin regarded her with that infinite patience. "You'll just have to trust me," he said gently._

"_I do trust you, Martin," she said softly, but her words were drowned out by the sound of the battle._

"_I now know what I was born to do," he said, distantly, looking down at the Amulet. He looked back at her, his gaze steady. "But I'll need your help. I have to get past Mehrunes Dagon somehow." He paused, and deep sadness crossing his face. "Then I'll do the rest."_

_She stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded, and began shouting orders to the Blades following them like shadows, and soon they began to cut through the city to the Temple._

_She followed Martin into the Temple; the others would hold off the enemy until they were finished. He slowed his pace as he approached the Dragonfires. Then he turned to her. He gently grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, causing her heart to leap, and then come crashing down and she blanched._

"_Martin?"_

_He pressed her palm to his cheek, closing his eyes. "I do what I must do," he said quietly. He pressed a kiss into her palm and let her hand go. He opened his eyes and met her sorrowful gaze with his own calm one._

_She shook her head. "Please."_

"_I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task falls to others." He wiped a tear from her cheek and gave her a weak smile. "Farewell, Seza." The shortening of her name that only he called her caused her heart to constrict, knowing it would be the last time she heard it upon his lips. "You've been a good friend, in the short time I've known you." He stepped away from her._

"_Please, no," she wept, reaching her arms out to him in a pleading gesture._

_Martin winced at the sound of her tears, his own beginning to fall."But now I must go. The Dragon awaits."_

_The roof of the Temple collapsed under Dagon's foot. Franseza sank to her knees, and shielded her eyes as a flash of light suddenly blinded her._

A noise in the brush behind her broke her reverie. Franseza blinked, shook her head and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands in a childlike gesture. She spun into a defensive crouch, drawing her short sword as quietly as she could. Another rustle brought a small rabbit into the dim light of the campfire. She let out a relieved sigh and sheathed her weapon.

She grabbed for her gear, deciding to get a nice look at the armor that had been her reward, since she hadn't been in the mood to when it was given to her earlier that day. She pulled it out of her pack; even in the firelight, it gleamed with the brilliance of newly tempered metal. She would don it in the morning and store her current armor at her home in Bruma, where she would be headed in the morning. She gently set the armor back into the pack and rummaged around for some of the dried meat she kept in there for traveling. She ate what was left of it, put up some protective wards to guard her during the night, and then laid down to rest.


End file.
